


Portals, Aliens, and Surprise Second Chances

by Corvid_Knight



Series: Grubbabies [5]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, Gift Fic, Godtier Powers, I'm so bad at writing Jane, Petrah does not belong to me, death reversal, hmm, is this not how timelines work, this was longer than expected
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-26 22:45:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15011063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corvid_Knight/pseuds/Corvid_Knight
Summary: Petrah makes an impulse decision to see what's on the other side of a portal, and finds some interesting people on the other side.This is a fic written forfantrollcharity's weekly winnerarseniccatnip! Petrah is his fantroll!





	Portals, Aliens, and Surprise Second Chances

Usually, the portals open at night. 

When it's at night, there's usually one or more of the others with you—the ones who don't really belong in the Alternian caste system, the ones who're probably destined to join you in the graveyard sooner rather than later if they don't stick together. They do stick together, though; that's part of the reason why you're still around even though you died, like, a _long_ time ago. Having some kind of family, even if it's just other wrigglers and just-molted kids who society marks as inherently _wrong,_ gives your ghost reason to stick around. Otherwise you probably would've faded away like the rest of the limeblood ghosts. 

(There still are _some_ ghosts with the same caste as you, of course. There were a lot of them when the then-Empress killed them all, and a lot of the six- and seven-sweep olds clung to some sort of existence a lot more stubbornly than the adults, who were mostly more-or-less resigned to their fates.) 

Anyway. 

You're the only ghost from the great culling in this graveyard, at least. It'd be boring if you didn't have your friends. Your _living_ friends.

But none of them are around, because it's midday and they're either in their hives asleep or in their hives _not_ sleeping (which some of them do more than is healthy, honestly) and you are currently floating over your grave, watching a patch of air a couple feet away shimmer and shift. You confirm your suspicions by scooping up a pebble and tossing it at the shimmer, nodding decisively when it doesn't hit the ground; yep, that's definitely a portal. 

And it's big. Big enough for a seven-sweep-old to step through. 

Well, for an _almost_ -seven-sweep-old to _float_ through. 

This is probably a mistake, but you flip your braids back out of your face and glance over your shoulder just in case an argument against this adventure is going to present itself. When nothing does, you dart forward and slip through the patch of shimmering air, trusting that your momentum will carry you through to whatever's on the other side.

* * *

It's a little less bright in the other side; close enough to night that you're pretty sure you could actually see if you were living. The sky's a weird color, though; a blue a bit lighter and clearer than cerulean blood, with weirdly white and fluffy clouds. You end up staring at it for a good minute or so, mentally comparing it with the muddy maroons and violets of your home planet. 

Oh, you're already thinking of this as a different planet? Isn't that kind of a leap of logic? 

Eh, you're dead, it's not like leaps of logic can hurt you. This is a different planet because of reasons. Reasons are why. 

"Heeeey," somebody says, and you instinctively rise a full foot higher before you remember that you're a ghost, and thus _probably_ invulnerable. 

Then again, you're also supposed to be more-or-less unnoticeable unless you or someone else deliberately points out your existence, and the wriggler staring up at you with pure fascination in their eyes doesn't seem to have any problem with that. Then again, there might be an easy explanation for that, because the kid (who only looks to be four or five sweeps old; jeez, poor thing) is _very obviously_ a limeblood. Like, they have the not-so-rare mutation of a chunk of hair the same color as their blood; for a caste that's been wiped from existence, that's as good as a literal death sentence. 

They're dead; that's why they can see you. 

"Hey there." Technically, another ghost could hurt you, but you drop down to closer to the kid's level anyway. You're pretty sure you could take them in a fight, after all. 

"Hi!" They give you a wide grin, running one hand through their green forelock as they get to their feet. "I'm Grafii! You're a ghost, right? Aunt Aradia was a ghost once, and so was Nep, but Nep couldn't, like, appear like that because she wasn't the right kind of player, y'know?" 

"Um." Oookay, that's slightly unexpected. "I'm Petrah, and yeah, I'm a ghost...what part of Alternia is this?" 

You phrase it like that because you can't quite convince yourself that you're _not_ on Alternia, despite the color of the sky and the brighter hues of almost all the vegetation and the way the sun's not much brighter than the moons should be. Grafii looks puzzled at the question for a moment, then laughs, shaking their head. 

"It's not Alternia. Are you a reborn, then?" 

"...reborn?" 

"Uh, yeah. I mean, sometimes the reborn pop up outta nowhere, but that's not, like, normal." Grafii leans forward, reaching for your hand. You automatically reach out as well; when their hand just slides right _through_ yours, you can't help but gasp. 

"You're not a ghost," you murmur, leaning down to try to touch their hair, the little pointed horns that're still longer than yours. Yep, your hands pass right through, provoking a soft giggle. Also, their eyes are gold like a normal living troll's would be; you're an idiot. "...what kind of lusus do you even _have_?" It must be something ridiculously powerful, to protect them from drones and agents of the Empire and who knows what else...

"I don't have a lusus." 

" _What_? How?!" 

"I have _dads,_ " Grafii states proudly, then cocks their head to one side. You recognize the look on their face; that's an expression that belongs to someone who just thought of something amazing. "Heeeey. You gotta come meet my dads. _And_ Aunt Jane and Uncle Dirk. Especially them. If you got Heart and Life together, sometimes you can fix ghosts." 

"I have no idea what any of those things are," you tell them. 

They just shrug, reaching out to try to grab your hand and pull you along and huffing in exasperation as that attempt fails miserably. The irritation fades when you float along just behind them, though. 

It occurs to you that you should remember where this place is, so you can come back to the portal later. Unfortunately, when you look over your shoulder for it, it's gone. 

Okay, so that might be a bit of a problem.

You put it out of your mind for the moment, and follow Grafii instead.

* * *

It turns out that by "dads," Grafii means "one adult (mutant blooded!) troll and his weird alien red/pale quadrantmate who's raising me and a lot of other wrigglers." 

Like, a _lot_ of wrigglers. You count six kids about Grafii's age before you decide that you should probably be a bit more focused on what the adult troll's saying. Karkat. His name's Karkat. The alien's Dave, and there's another alien who you don't think is quadranted with either of the other two adults sitting on the counter. 

(You think his tinted glasses are stupid. Unless he's planning for them to be used as weapons, there is absolutely no reason for them to be that sharply pointed.) 

They can all see you, but that's less surprising because Grafii immediately introduced you like they were ridiculously proud of bringing a ghost friend home. Maybe they are. It's a weird thing to be proud of, though. 

Karkat is still talking. You absorbed none of that speech. 

The quiet alien with the sharp eyewear slides off the counter, though, and the adult troll goes silent as he takes said eyewear off. Behind the dark glass his eyes are a color several shades redder than the sclera of your own eyes, filled in like he's an orangeblood. Not bronze or rust; really _orange_. Plus, where there should be yellow around the edges of the age-ring, there's whitish instead. 

That's _weird._ Almost as weird as the lack of horns. 

"Petrah, right?" he says, no real readable emotion in his words. You don't like that. Highbloods are like that, right up 'til the minute they grin and grab you and sink purple claws into—  
Oop. Ouch. Don't think about it, okay? 

"Yeah, Petrah. Petrah Peetra." 

"Cool. I'm Dirk Strider." 

"Grafii said I should meet you." 

He smiles, small and lightning-quick and gone almost before you realize it was there at all, and makes a tiny ironic half-bow. "Well hey, I think they were right. See, I'm guessing they wanted to see if we could get you alive again." 

A couple dozen responses to that calm statement tangle up in your head, fight to get out your mouth, and escape only as a startled, choked sound. 

Dirk cocks his head, then reaches over to awkwardly pat your shoulder. 

Let's restate that: _the alien touches you._

He. Touches. You. 

His hand makes contact with you. You feel the warmth of his skin even through your shirt. 

What. 

_What._

"What?!" you yelp, and grab at his arm. You can't actually _move_ him—Dirk might as well be made from stone, as his existence pertains to you—but you can feel him! You can touch him! You have absolutely no idea why! 

"What?" Orange eyes meet your blank white ones in honest bafflement, the first definite emotion you've seen from him. It only lasts a second, though, before he obviously figures out the reason for your surprise. "Oh. Yeah. Ghosts are an extension of self; self's a function of Heart; I'm the Prince of Heart. I can touch ghosts, whether they—hey!" 

The "hey!" is in startled response to you throwing your arms around him and clinging. This was something you missed so much, and you didn't even know you wanted it until you had the opportunity to have it. 

As Dirk just stands there stiffly and lets you hug him, Dave laughs and gets up from the table. 

"I'm gonna go get Jane," he says. You hear something like the ticking of a clock. 

When you glance over your shoulder, he's gone.

* * *

Dave returns maybe ten minutes later with Jane, who turns out to be another alien. (Karkat informs you that they're called _humans_ , once he convinces you to please let go of poor Dirk.) She has black hair, the same as trolls, which is weird because Dave and Dirk's is so light. Maybe she's a different blood caste? She _is_ wearing blue, after all, instead of Karkat's black with hints of grey and red, or Dave's red and white. 

Then again, Dave and Karkat have kids starting at goldblood and going all the way up to purple. At least that much of the hemospectrum covered, maybe more; you stopped paying attention to the grubs in favor of the aliens. 

Humans. The humans. 

Dirk glances over at Jane and asks, "So Dave filled you in, right?" 

She nods, offering you a smile. (Humans apparently have teeth even blunter than a bronzeblood. Interesting.) "Definitely! I don't think we've had this situation before, either; most of the ghosts we get are from people killed in-session and dumped out of the dreambubbles. I don't think we've ever seen anyone from this far before the game before." 

"That's not to say we can't fix the whole life-challenged thing," Dirk adds. "Assuming you want us to, that is." 

Life-challenged? 

Oh, he means dead. "You can fix that?" 

He shrugs, nodding at Jane. "Life player, so...yeah." 

"They've gotten pretty fucking good at it," Dave observes, from where he's settled on the counter. (Karkat has, at some point, absconded into another part of the hive, taking the kids with him. "Like, we figured out that Jane can't raise ghosts by herself, but if you add Dirk in? Or Rox? It's a fuckin' snap." 

"So," you ask, very carefully (you can't possibly be understanding this right), "you can make me alive again?"  
"Well, yeah," Dirk says. 

And Jane adds, "If you want us to, of course!" 

If you _want_ them to? 

You actually can't remember how words work for a moment, and have to settle for nodding furiously. Dave laughs. "I think y'all got your clear consent there, guys." 

"I'll agree with that." Dirk nods, stepping around so he's on the opposite side of you from Jane; you can't help but look back and forth between the two of them, trying not to let yourself rise any higher than where you're hovering, a few handspans over the floor. "Okay, like. Don't move too much for a minute, alright? Fidgeting is fine, leaving the general space you're in right now is less fine because Life and Heart powers get a lil' volatile once they're combined—" 

"He means the magic shit'll break the windows if it can't get absorbed where it's directed," Dave explains. "And we just got the windows in here fixed from Myrmyr's tantrum last week." 

"Oh." You nod, bracing yourself for whatever might happen. "I won't move, don't worry." 

"Good." Jane nods as you look over at her. Then she closes her eyes, and the air around her begins to shimmer. 

It's kind of like the effect from the portal, but where that was colorless, picking up the appearance of everything around it, the aura that she's manifesting has a definite color. Or at least the _feeling_ of a color, a cool pale green that makes you think of growing things, sprouts poking up through fertile soil, rain on leaves. 

It actually reminds you of a psionic flexing their power, kind of? Except not. 

You glance over at Dirk, and can't help your immediate double take. He's acquired an aura as well, except instead of being cool and calm like Jane's, his is all crackling lightning the color of the Empress, magenta sparks shedding off him with every small move he makes. Her power's steady and understatedly great; his is bright wildness held in a control that's obviously well-developed, even if your immediate thought is _shit he could hurt me with that._ e

Actually, they _both_ could hurt you. 

Uh-oh. 

You have a second to register that fact and start to panic before green and pink arc from Jane and Dirk, both impacting you, midway between them. It doesn't _hurt_ , exactly, but it feels weird. Kind of like the exact and precise opposite of a ripping sensation; a violent feeling of _being put together again._

Then the colors arcing around you abruptly dissipate, and something happens that hasn't happened for _sweeps_.

You fall. 

Only a foot or so, sure, but the fact that you fall and hit the floor is enough to rob you of your equilibrium, which means that you just sort of topple over. Dave's off the counter and next to you almost immediately, helping you to your feet as you take a deep breath (breath! You're breathing!) and look over at Dirk. 

Dirk is sitting on the floor, orange eyes vague and bemused. Jane's standing over him with an exasperated look on her face, hands on her hips. "You used a piece of your heart for the energy, didn't you?" she asks. It doesn't really sound like a question. 

He seems to realize that, because he just shrugs. "I'm fine?" 

"You're an idiot," she tells him, and leans down to grab his hands and haul him back to his feet, letting him lean on her when he almost goes down again. "Let's get you to your boyfriend, you dumb dork..." 

"Is he okay?" you have to ask Dave, as Jane more-or-less drags Dirk out. 

"He'll be fine; the cool thing about Heart powers is that they recharge pretty quick, so long as he doesn't, like, actually kill himself using them." Dave shrugs, letting go of your hand and taking a step back. "Okay, how about you? Are _you_ okay?" 

Um... "I'm alive," you tell him, feeling a wide smile spread across your face. And you are! You _are_ alive, the other kids are going to—

Oh. 

Yeah. 

You're not on Alternia. You're not with them. 

Oh, no. 

Dave's expression twists up in pure baffled concern when you burst into tears.

* * *

Dave is surprisingly good at soothing you, once he figures out that that's what he needs to do, but it's not until Karkat comes back in to see what's going on that the two of them manage to calm you down enough that you can explain exactly _why_ you're crying. When you get the words out between sniffles, Dave nods, leaning back in his chair. 

Karkat raises his eyebrows, watching the human carefully. "She wants to go home, Dave." 

"Mmm-hm." He doesn't even glance at Karkat, though; right now, his attention's unwavering on you, bright red eyes narrow and unblinking. 

"You _are_ the Time player." 

"Yep." 

"We might even say a Hero of Time." 

"Maybe." 

"Dave, how fucking long does it take you to figure out whether you can send her back home or not?" 

He shrugs, and _finally_ blinks. "This long, apparently. And the answer is yeah, I can send Petrah back without it fucking up the timelines. Not sure _why,_ since she was obviously dead before, but hey, I'm not gonna argue with the universes." 

"Wait—I can go home?" 

"Yeah, definitely." Dave grins at you, getting to his feet. "There's a window, though. Like, we should do it now if you want to get back close to when you left." 

"Yes, please." 

"Gimme your hands." He holds out his hands, and you reach out to put yours into them. "Uh, close your eyes. It'll be easier on us both that way...remember to be careful when you get back, alright? You're a limeblood; there's still gonna be people who want to kill you." 

"I can handle that." Your friends will help, after all. "Tell Dirk and Jane thank you for me, please? And Grafii." The kid's the one who made this happen, after all. 

"Will do. Bye, Petrah..." 

Dave's hands tighten a bit on yours, then abruptly release. You hear ticking, something that sounds like pages shuffling, then a familiar, surprised yelp. 

When you open your eyes, you're back where you belong. Next to your grave, with a very-surprised troll staring at you. (Thank the stars Dave sent you back to _nighttime,_ instead of day. That'd be a dumb way to die.) 

"Petrah!" 

"Yeah, I'm alive!" you almost yell back. 

" _How_?" 

Ookay, this is the very definition of "long story." You have time, though, so you sit down on one of the gravestones and start telling this story for the first time, knowing as you do that it _definitely_ won't be the last.


End file.
